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Eddy Jordan

Relics of What

Relics of wormwood and teething is the sky oddly draped: across mom's breasts where it shouldn't.

Should be across your own.

Hope comes sutured to worry so you'll do both.

Relics will polyp in such ways and places

but a wood-finish magic happens and

you'll be there. Wear an uncommon brain. B

e an uncommon heart when it happens.


How Fog

Ugly precipice and how we're standing on it wrong.

But what's wrong is us and how –

how we endeavor to save ourselves how we're licking the wrong side of display windows how fog is the brain of forget.


In Defense of Your Neighbors' Avant-Garde Piano Racket

We spy each other across aisles of acres of pyramids of citrus on the edge of rot, like any organized mania grocery display. You're considering avocados. I am not.

Your check out line number flickering, like is your teller there or not?

You brave it still, and you're parking lot strutting before me.

You run over a dummed out pigeon

You almost do

You clip a wing.

It dances its gross ecstasy.

It gets dead underneath my foot.

It pulps up and stops its worry.

I didn't see it I say. Came out of no where

I say. We grow to talk & talk

turns to odd discovery turns to candle

light. Another dead pigeon needs scraping up

like skillet gristle.

I stumble in your bed. A piano

strapped to my back. To play

all chords backwards with you

when we're all odd and backwards too.


Eddy Jordan writes runs and drinks in the Longmont & Boulder area. He graduated from CU in 2015 with a BFA in Theatre Performance which has informed his writing and also explains his odd behavior. Past publications include TIMBER 8.1, Punch Drunk Press, Harpoon Review, 13 Myna Birds, & CU's Honor Journal.

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